


I Can Be Here For You, If You Want

by aliveinvividity



Series: Darus Week (2016) [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveinvividity/pseuds/aliveinvividity
Summary: “Jesus,” the kid finally says, breaking the silence. “What?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> for darus week (day 4)
> 
> enjoy, loves <33
> 
> tumblr: that-flawless-boi

Daryl winces when his fingertips brush against the purpling bruise under his eye. It wasn’t even his dad or Merle this time. It was Joe and his little posse. He can’t even use school to escape the abuse. His chest tightens, and he makes himself more comfortable against the metal bleachers located just outside the building. 

He’d tried to fight back, but it was no use. There were too many of them- five or six, maybe; Joe included. They always chose to gang up on him when no one was around. It was easy for them, too, given the fact that one of Joe’s boys was always in a class with him. Each class was a different boy. Today, when he went to take a piss during American History, Tony ( _Joe’s favorite_ ) had followed him out of the room. 

Daryl knew what was coming, and he couldn’t bring himself to care about it anymore. He was so used to it at this point. 

Joe and his group didn’t even fight fair. They’d kick him when he was already down. Pansies. 

“ _Yer nothin_ ’ _but white trash_ , _Dixon_!” **_Shove._**

He sniffs, a cold breeze ruffling his unkempt hair and chilling his cheeks.

“ _There ain_ ’ _t one person in this world that cares bout_ ’ _you_! _Why do you think no one does nothin_ ’ _to help you_!?” **_Punch!_**  

His fingers reach up and trail delicately across his spit bottom lip.

“ _Yer whole **family** is fuckin_ ’ _white trash_!” **_Kick!_**

Daryl sighs and blinks at the baseball field in front of him, a chainlink fence blocking off the entirety of it. His eyes are burning with the beginnings of unshed tears, but he blinks them back. 

_I ain’t gonna cry over this bullshit. I ain’t sheddin’ no tears because of these assholes. I ain’t giving them the satisfaction._

But they were right, and he knows this. His family really is white trash, and he is, too. No one does care about him, other than the police. And by care, he means continuous and obvious watching. Never know what the dangerous rednecks are gonna pull next. 

And sure, there are people who talk to him, but he knows that it’s mostly out of obligation. They’d feel bad if they didn’t. 

“ _S’ a wonder you haven’t just killed yerself yet_.” **_Kick!_**

He reaches for the carton of marlboro’s in his jacket pocket, lighting one up shortly after. Daryl inhales on it deeply, and then exhales on a whimper. His ribs fuckin’ _hurt_. They didn’t hold back today. Probably bruised them.

Cigarette hanging limply between his lips, his narrowed eyes scan the area. The field’s dirt is dried and crusted, now, baseball season over. The tanning grass is frosted white and glitters under the light the sun has to give, which is in momentary bursts. Grey clouds continuously cover up the warmth it offers, and he shivers. The few trees outside of the field are falling asleep, leaves changing colors. It’d be a nice view if he wasn’t in so much pain.  

“Hi.”

Daryl jumps and winces, glaring at the sudden unwanted newcomer. Wide, icy eyes meet his own and he quickly looks away, uncomfortable with its intensity. The boy has on a big, black scarf and a nice, black coat. Leather gloves, expensive jeans. His umber hair flows nicely with the wind’s current, and Daryl catches a whiff of some superior cologne. It’s that rich kid that everyone always talks about. Nice car, nice school supplies, nice everything. Daryl doesn’t want to deal with anymore bullshit, today. He knows he’s poor. He knows he’s trash. He doesn’t need to be reminded again.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, taking another drag from his cigarette. He has to hold back from blowing the smoke in his face. “You ain’t even supposed to be out here.”

Rich boy scoffs at his attitude, and shifts around. Getting comfortable. “ _You’re_ not even supposed to, so your argument isn’t really valid.” He stares off into the near distance. “You look a little rough.” Daryl doesn’t reply. Just takes another drag. “Was it Joe?”

That catches his attention. He looks at the other, now. “Yeah. What about it?”  

“It’s just,” he trails off. “He’s confronted me a few times. Called me some names.” He chuckles. “He knows not to mess with me, though.”

“Cause’ you’re rich?” 

The boy laughs. “No, no. I kicked his ass the other day.” 

Daryl’s eyes narrow, and he looks him over. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“Nope. One-hundred percent serious. My parents had me take mixed martial arts. I still practice from time to time.” 

He blinks and then blinks again. 

“Don’t really look the type, do I?” He laughs. 

“No,” Daryl answers, truthfully. 

A moment of silence passes. 

“Jesus,” the kid finally says, breaking the silence. 

“What?”

“That’s my name.” Daryl stares at him for a bit, unamused. ‘Jesus’ finally breaks, chuckling. “Okay, it’s Paul. Jesus is a nickname.”

“Good, cause’ I ain’t callin’ you ‘ _Jesus_ ’.”  

Some more laughter. “What’s your name?”

“Daryl.” 

“Daryl,” Paul says, rolling the name off his tongue. They sit in silence for a while, staring at the baseball field. “You smoke weed?” 

The redneck, without even looking at him, replies, “yeah.”

“Cool.” The boy pulls a small bag out of the inside pocket of his coat, weed and a hitter inside. He’s surprised no one smelled it. That’s also pretty dangerous to do at a school. Daryl doesn’t say anything, though.  

**

“And- and then he just _falls_  on his ass,” Paul guffaws. Daryl is laughing right alongside him, trying his hardest to hide it in his jacket sleeve. It’s not working very well. There’s also the fact that there’s pain in his ribs, but it’s dumbed down because of the marijuana. “And he just screams ‘ _my potato_ ’! and the potato’s just smashed to bits, and he looked _so upset_.” There are tears in his eyes as he finishes, and he laughs even harder. Daryl is straight up _giggling_. He hasn’t laughed this hard since mom was alive. 

“That fuckin’ ridiculous, man,” he chortles, wiping his eyes. 

“Exactly.”

The both of them sigh, then, thoroughly amused and calm. The sun is setting, now, casting the sky in shades of orange and red. There isn’t any blue to be seen, covered with grey, instead.  

“Well, it was lovely meeting you, Mr. Dixon. I’m glad I did,” Paul says, standing and stretching. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He leaves with a cheeky grin and wave. Daryl nods and grins right back, watching his back until he disappears behind the school building. The young man then looks back at the setting sun. 

He hasn’t been this happy in years, he thinks. 


End file.
